All Out of Faith
by Cactus101
Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange.
1. It's not Fair

All out of Faith

Chapter 1 – It's not fair

Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange.

A/N: I'm still working on Big My Secret and hope to have another chapter of that fic up shortly but my muse couldn't let go of this new idea that snuck up on her.

I don't own anything related to Supernatural. All I can claim are the errors, grammatical or otherwise.

This fic is for entertainment purposes only. Enjoy.

* * *

Sam's first clue that the drive to Nebraska had taken a lot out Dean was how uncoordinated and weak his brother looked getting out of the car. His second clue was the look of disgust and disappointment on Dean's face when he realized they weren't going to see a doctor but a faith healer. That was the look that made Sam's stomach churn with guilt and left him wondering if bringing Dean here was the right thing to do.

Dean seemed to be moving on auto-pilot as he took a few faltering steps towards the tent before realizing where he was headed. He shoved Sam's helping hands away and looked back at his car wanting nothing more than to retreat back to the comfort of his beloved Impala. Only the look of desperate hope in Sam's eyes broke his resolve and Dean grudgingly allowed himself to be steered into the tent.

The brothers sat and watched as an old man was healed, got up from his wheelchair and walked out on his own two feet. Dean was not impressed, assumed the whole thing was fixed and in no uncertain terms told Sam Roy Le Grange was a charlatan. He wanted nothing to do with this side show and they were exiting when they bumped into Layla.

The petite blonde overhead Dean's tirade and assured him that Roy was a true healer and what was needed was a little faith. Dean snorted indignantly at her words and at the sight of Sammy's eyes glistening with fervor as his little brother eagerly lapped up this drivel from a total stranger. Dean wanted to knock some sense into Sam but instead, he turned to Layla and with all the bitterness he could muster, responded that it was too late for him - he was all out of faith. Sam cringed knowing full well these words were meant for him. To her credit, Layla didn't take offense at the young man's angry reply. She smiled genuinely and accepted Dean's statement before bidding them farewell.

Sam felt a sense of vindication at Layla's belief as he shepherded his disbelieving brother towards the Impala. It gave credence to what Sam had witnessed; the old man's legs were atrophied, unused and useless until Roy Le Grange placed his hand on the man's head and prayed. But, it was the look of pure joy in the man's eyes that stayed with Sam, gave him hope and convinced him there was something to this. He was poised to give chase to the healed man but one look at his washed out brother and he knew he needed to get Dean settled for the night.

Sam drove towards the nearby town in search of a motel. He peered over at Dean who was slouched deeply into the seat, rubbing his chest with jerky strokes, fatigue exacerbating the lack of control over his muscles. "Do you want to pick up some supper before getting a room?" He asked his waning brother.

Dean grimaced as he tried to straighten up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt to quell the pain. "Not hungry." He mumbled thinly, leaned his head back and closed his eyes against the lifeless landscape.

Dean hardly ate anymore. It reminded Sam of a term he had heard many years ago and had almost forgotten - failure to thrive. Sam sensed that Dean didn't have the will to care for himself any longer and it was killing Sam to see his brother like this. The younger brother chewed the inside of his cheek not willing to let this go so easily. "Dean, you know you need to eat something before you take your meds."

Dean frowned deeply and breathed out, "Sammy, cut it out," the last words trailing off. It was said in that bone weary way a parent speaks to a child who is unable to comprehend why some things must be and with the hope that they would know to give in this once.

Sam heard it too and felt responsible for being the reason Dean was completely pissed and exhausted at being dragged around all day. "Dean, I'm just trying to help," he retorted ruefully.

Dean noticed the slump in Sam's shoulders and the utter look of frustration in his eyes and it was a reminder that every worried look and every sideways glance from his brother felt like an accusation that he wasn't trying hard enough. For someone who was Stanford educated, Sam just didn't get it. He was naive enough to believe that if Dean ate right and took his pills and was more positive, had more fight or more faith then the damage to his heart and the rest of his body would somehow reverse. Dean knew there was no magic pill, no miracle cure for him and he stared at his little brother and swallowed hard against the feel of knives caught in his chest. He needed Sam to face reality and let go of these false hopes and illusions which would only break his heart needlessly when none came to pass. "Sammy, stop." Dean's tone was detached, unemotional. "This... is it." He added, stating a fact that seemed to have eluded his little brother.

For the first time since this whole mess started, Sam heard the finality echoed in his brother's voice and how the words Dean spoke sounded hollow and empty, like he was more than half gone, like he was speaking from the bottom of a tomb. Sam felt the surge of fear and panic rise from the pit of his stomach and into his throat. He was watching as his brother literally bled out. Except, there was no bullet wound Sam could tend to and press down on to keep Dean whole. There was only a brother getting paler and skinnier and weaker and occupying less space by the minute. It was getting harder and harder to find his Dean inside the impostor wearing his brother's clothes and sitting next to him in the Impala, refusing to eat or fight or live and it took all of Sam's strength to shake his head in defiance against his brother's statement.

Dean sighed dejectedly. "Sammy...enough with this... this... faith healing crap," Dean motioned dismissively. "Please," he uttered softly rubbing his chest with his hand, "I'm ok with this...I'm ok..."

And Sam understood - Dean was okay with letting go, was okay with dying, was okay with leaving him behind and alone and Sam felt his stomach clench violently at how easily his brother had given up. "So, that's it?" He asked voice choked and eyes filled with emotion.

Dean closed his eyes and wished he could order Sammy to stop the car and that his body would work and his hand would open the goddamn door without seizing and his legs would allow him to run away from the hurt in his brother's voice. But he couldn't run away and he couldn't answer Sammy's question and he couldn't do anything worth a damn. He was as useless as his heart.

"Sammy, I can't…" Dean's words were fraught with desperation, a desperation born from not wanting to deny his little brother anything but not able to grant him this one hope, unable to believe in things he knew in his heart of hearts could not be , unable to make things better, unable to hang on. "Not now...it's not fair..." He sighed wearily.

Sam felt the ache in his chest deepen at how fragile his brother sounded. He had never heard Dean plead so earnestly and realized his brother's 'I laugh in the face of death' routine was not meant to hide his fear of dying but to convince himself not to hope, not too expect something good or miraculous and most importantly, not to want something he couldn't have. Sam couldn't help but feel the heaviness of the burden thrust upon him - he was Dean's last hope.

"Yeah, it's not fair," Sam repeated painfully and he wasn't sure if he meant it for Dean or himself.

Dean's gaze dropped away and with it his remaining strength. He eased himself back on the seat and tried to curl in on himself, his head rested against the window and his eyes were awash in resignation. Sam stared at his brother, stared at the sunken cheeks, the bruised eyes and the too pallid skin and wondered how Dean could look so young and so old at the same time. Sam swiped at his eyes brimming with despair and stared out at the darkening road before him. He contemplated what the future would look like if he failed and like the signposts that rushed by and marked his passage, Sam saw the endless row of tomorrows clearly laid out. He saw a future without a brother, a future without Jess, a future with an absent father and no family to speak of, a future that held no promise and all Sam could do was pray for a miracle of his own.

TBC...


	2. Like Water Through Fingers

All Out of Faith

Chapter 2 – Like Water Through Fingers

Summary: What if Dean had not been chosen by Roy Le Grange.

A/N I don't own anything related to Supernatural. All I can claim are the errors, grammatical or otherwise.

¹ -² These are phrases taken from Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo.

Thank you to all the reviewers, readers and followers.

No copyright infringement is intended. This fic is for entertainment purposes only. Enjoy.

* * *

_Dig the grave already. _Dean thought as he sensed everyone in the diner staring.

The good people of Nebraska should be used to seeing freaks in this town, should be used to seeing a steady stream of frail, sick and terminal patients parading in to attend Sunday service. Nonetheless, they all looked at him like there was no hope, like he was already dead. And if none of these righteous folks believed he could be saved then the preacher was a fake and Sam, his Sam…

Dean sucked in a shaky breath and looked up at his brother who was busy scanning the local paper. Sam looked tired, anxious, haunted. It was the same look his little brother wore when he came to his hospital room after the doctor told Sam there was nothing they could do. Dean saw the horrible desperation in his brother's face and he would have done anything to take it away. He tried to get his brother to go on without him, to spare Sam from going through this, again, so soon after Jessica. And then Dean watched helplessly as Sammy walked away, a little more desperate, a lot more broken and so close to shattering that a part of Dean died right there in that hospital room.

When Dean hadn't heard from Sam in three days, he was convinced his brother had taken his advice and left. The nurses tried to persuade him otherwise, telling him Sam was checking in, always when he was asleep. Dean knew all about these types of lies and a part of him was relieved that Sammy hadn't come back and a part of him was heart sick. He should have been used to this by now but it still stung and he didn't want to lie in that bed knowing Sam had gone and his dad wasn't coming.

Dean automatically fingered his chest at the memory and hunched further into his jacket. He hadn't blamed his brother for leaving and he wasn't bitter about it. But he should have never have gone back to the motel to see whether Sam was really gone. It was just that he had been so goddamn lonely...

Dean let out a shallow sigh and looked out the window. He tried to forget all that. He tried to see beyond this place, this place that reminded him of the hospital, this place filled with the sick and the dying, where everyone wore morose expressions, where they looked right through him _like a ghost_, where everyone wanted to stare but no one wanted to touch. He felt worn-out and he was tired of feeling sick, of feeling lonely, of feeling angry and weak and useless. He was tired of the suffocating pity. He was tired, bone tired and all he wanted was to escape.

All of it.

No, not all of it, he thought stupidly and looked at his brother. Not Sammy or his dad, never his family. It hadn't been an option since he was four years old, since his mom was taken away and Dean became consumed by the fear that his brother or father would leave him too. It made him cling to them more fiercely than anything else since and from that day forward, Dean knew he would never be the one to leave.

Ever.

No matter what.

And that's when Dean's fate was sealed and he was destined to be the one left behind…always the one left behind because they had an out; his dad had his obsession with the yellow eyed demon and Sam had his dream of school and a normal life. And although Dean never wanted an out, he had one now and it trumped everyone else's and wasn't that a bitch because what good did it do him? No good at all because he didn't want revenge for the times he was dropped off at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's like an unwanted puppy. He didn't want to rub it in their faces for all the times they ditched him. All he wanted was to be together, with his brother and dad.

As a family.

_One last time. _

Dean glanced at Sam and wondered whether he could coerce his mule headed brother to give up his quest and leave this shithole so they could look for dad. But he knew it would be impossible to get Sammy to trade in one long shot, finding a miracle, for another, finding dad. He knew if he was in his brother's shoes, he wouldn't let anything get in the way of saving Sam. And his little brother was about a hundred times more stubborn than Dean could ever be.

"Dean, please…" Sam begged and stared at his brother's barely touched breakfast.

Dean's chest tightened at Sammy's tone; it was needy and whiny and reminiscent of the little four-year old he used to hold those many years ago. It hurt because there was nothing Dean could do to make it better.

Nothing.

Because he was slipping away.

Slowly.

Inevitably.

Like water through fingers.

Dean closed his eyes, for one second, just so he wouldn't see Sammy's face, just so he wouldn't have to die a little more in Buttfuck, Nebraska.

"Dean," Sam called.

_Just give me a moment, Sam, just resting my eyes_. _Forever._

"Dean, are you done with breakfast?" Sam asked impatiently. Of course he could tell Dean was done. He could tell by the way the coffee had gone cold before his brother had even taken one sip. He could tell by the way Dean made a face like he was eating bugs when he nibbled at his pancakes. He could tell by the way the fork was hooked onto the side of the plate like it would stay that way forever.

Sam tried to scrub the fatigue and worry and impatience from his mind but he couldn't. He couldn't because Dean was barely holding on and Sam had to make sure his brother was eating and drinking and taking his meds and not running a fever and resting instead of puking and breathing instead of falling over. And in order to do all that, Sam needed to watch his brother constantly. It didn't matter whether Dean was in the car, in a diner or a motel room, asleep or awake. Even when Dean was in the washroom, Sam stopped what he was doing and listened for any sound of distress and observed the shadows slipping out from underneath the door frame to make sure Dean was still upright.

It meant that Sam hardly had a moment to himself anymore; even in his sleep, his mind was constantly churning over facts, observations, possible problems and solutions. It felt like time moved at an accelerated pace and Sam couldn't understand how the morning had come so quickly. How instead of doing research, he spent last night trying to get Dean comfortable. Sam hated that word. It was what the doctor said was all they could do for his brother. But Dean was never comfortable, never at ease, never pain free and at times it took all of Sam's resolve not to reach out and do things for Dean when his arms and legs jerked and failed to perform the simplest tasks. It was at those times that he wished his dad was here because his dad would be able to get Dean to eat and rest and take his meds. And if there was someone else …well, one of them could take care of Dean and the other could look for a cure, or a miracle or some way to stop time or something…instead, Sam was trying to do it all himself and he was doing a piss poor job of it.

When Dean had finally fallen asleep, Sam leaned over his brother and watched him breathe and allowed himself the luxury of trying to memorize his brother's features, to commit them to memory but the pallor of Dean's skin and the shallow, wheezy puffs passing for breaths were nothing like his brother. Nothing at all…

"Sam?" A soft voice called from behind and Sam turned to see a sunshiny smile reflected at him.

"Layla," he called out unsettled, unprepared to have his time taken up with idle conversation.

"I didn't expect to see you in town after...yesterday." Layla said diplomatically not wanting to broach the subject of Dean's reticence to Roy Le Grange. Dean opened his eyes at the sound of her voice and the mention of the preacher.

"Good morning, Dean." Layla smiled genuinely. For the first time in days, Dean didn't see the death glare and he stared at this woman who didn't see a lost cause, who didn't see a dead man walking, who chose to ignore all that.

Layla turned back to Sam. "Are you planning to stay a little longer?"

Sam understood Layla's underlying question – 'are you staying until Sunday?'

"I'm not sure yet. I wanted to find out more about what happened yesterday." Sam said, hoping this wouldn't set Dean off. But his brother didn't seem to be paying him much attention.

"Yes, wasn't it wonderful what happened to Mr. Miles? Give's hope to the rest of us, doesn't it?"

Sam had pulled out his wallet to pay for breakfast and his head snapped around at the mention of the old man.

"You know him?" He asked expectantly.

Dean closed his eyes to avoid seeing the desperation in Sam's face but something about the way Layla phrased her sentence struck him and he filed it away to figure out later.

"Why sure, Mr. Miles has been paralyzed for years. None of the doctors gave him any hope of regaining his mobility but God works in mysterious ways." Layla smiled beatifically.

"Do you think he would talk to me…about his healing?" Sam paid for breakfast without taking his eyes off the young woman.

Layla saw the anxious hope in Sam's eyes and heard the fear and ache in his voice and turned towards Dean before offering her help. Dean responded to her gaze with a breathy sigh and a defeated shrug of his shoulders and as much as he wanted Sam to stop and forget about Le Grange he knew it would be impossible in the face of his brother's stubbornness.

Layla smiled softly and continued, "I can speak to him, if you like."

"Do you think I could see him today? I really need to speak to him as soon as possible. Today would be best." Sam's words tumbled out, strung together in one panic filled breath. Layla stared at the worried young man and saw his eyes glistening with sadness.

"Of course, I'll do my best, Sam. Give me a minute to make a call." Layla replied humbly and excused herself.

* * *

Dean stared vacantly at the darkening sky threatening to erupt outside the now quiet diner. Most of the breakfast crowd was gone and Sam had left 10 minutes earlier to meet Mr. Miles, the 'miracle man'. Layla had taken up Sam's seat and sipped at her coffee while she thumbed through the tourist flyers clipped to the wall of their booth.

"We're not far from the World's Largest Time Capsule or the Largest Porch Swing," She said lightly and turned the colorful advertisement so Dean could see. "I wonder what they have in that time capsule." She asked rhetorically as her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Might be worth a trip," She added playfully.

"Probably not," Dean muttered tiredly and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I've seen my share of World's," Dean breathed, "Largest, Biggest," then waved his hand to signify all other descriptions before he swallowed dryly. He really wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep right there in the diner but he didn't think the patrons would find that too amusing.

"Oh really," Layla was interested in what he had visited, "Anything you could recommend?" She asked earnestly and watched Dean attentively.

Dean looked away and Layla couldn't tell whether it was due to annoyance or because he wasn't feeling well. The young woman rifled through her purse and grabbed a small notepad and opened it to a page that was half filled.

"I'm working on a list," she mentioned as incentive for Dean to recommend someplace. Dean reached over and turned the pad and read the first line, 'Bucket List'.

"Aren't you… a little young?" he wheezed.

"I say no time like the present to make your dreams come true," Layla responded softly.

Dean eyed the list. "No…Grand Canyon?" He paused and swallowed hard. "Never seen it myself…hear it's beautiful…would have it…on my list…," Dean's voice waned and he grabbed his chest to soothe the growing ache.

"Maybe, I should call your brother," Layla said, concern lacing her voice.

Dean eyed her wearily. "I don't need…a babysitter," he said bitterly, certain this was all his brother's doing and Layla was too nice to ditch Sam's dying brother.

"Oh, is that what this is?" Layla asked cheekily. "Well, I better find out what the going rate is for babysitters nowadays. I wouldn't want Sam to take advantage of me," she smiled.

"Look, I'm sure…you have…better things to do…" Dean huffed weakly.

"Actually, I'd rather sit with you if that's ok," Layla offered and pointed to her list.

"I don't need…your…pity," Dean shifted to try to find a better position.

"That's not what I'm offering," Layla said seriously. Dean let out a half snort; he couldn't quite make out what this woman had to gain by keeping him company.

"I don't have…any life insurance…and…nothing but…the clothes…on my back….which I'm leaving… to my brother." He added. "So…what's in it…for you?"

Layla looked down and away. She felt the mistrust and loneliness rolling off the young man and sensed he was not used to putting himself first, not used to being taken care of.

"I'm trying to pay it forward," Layla said quietly and looked into Dean's eyes.

The young hunter glimpsed at the emotion behind her words and felt guilty for questioning this woman's motives. He turned away and looked out the window, willing Sam to show up and rescue Layla from his ass of a brother. The petite blonde was not deterred and paid no heed to Dean's internal turmoil.

"When we're strong," Layla explained gently, "we have the capacity to bless others."¹

_I guess when you're not strong your useless,_ Dean thought indignantly and fidgeted in his seat as his muscles started to spasm painfully.

"Strength doesn't always come from the physical body," Layla added as if reading Dean's thoughts. "I understand it's difficult to be vulnerable," the young woman continued, "Sometimes the best thing we can do is to let others be strong for us, to give others the opportunity to bless us."²

As if on cue, Dean felt his heart stutter lazily in an uncoordinated sequence. With one hand he grabbed at his chest and with the other he gripped the side of the table. He closed his eyes against the fuzziness invading his peripheral vision and Layla reached out and covered his jerking hand.

"Should I call your brother?" she asked worriedly and quickly moved to his side as he slumped forward, leaning heavily on the table.

Dean shook his head and tried to swallow down the pain rising in his chest.

"Do you want to go back to your room?" Layla asked in a calm voice.

Dean could feel the iciness of the anger that had hardened him against the world leach out of his body replaced instead by the warmth of Layla's hand. A warmth that filled him with the feeling of an endless summer heat on a late autumn day.

Dean relaxed and the young woman understood implicitly that he was willing to open up and allow himself to be blessed. She understood it in the way he leaned against her and tried to steady his breathing. She understood it as he allowed himself to be supported when he pushed himself up from the table. They stood for several seconds as Dean tried to get his bearings and then he turned and gazed at Layla thoughtfully.

"Pay it forward, huh?" He rasped ruefully.

"Something like that…" Layla answered and let her gratitude show in the smile that graced her lips. They made their way out of the diner, his arm hooked lazily around her shoulder and hers wrapped around his waist. Layla was humbled by the trust this young man had placed in her and strangely enough, she was the one who felt blessed.

TBC...


End file.
